Thousand Mile Wish
by Solain Rhyo
Summary: Things aren't always easy, but they each cope the best they can. Tifa's love for Cloud isn't returned, but she can always pretend that maybe someday it will be. Series of ficlets.
1. Longing

_**Tifa – Longing**_

**xxx**

It's a nice dream.

Sometimes, when I first wake in the morning, I lie motionless beneath my blankets and pretend that if I were to turn my head a fraction of a distance and open my eyes, I'll see you there. Your hair, always wild, will be more so – tousled by sleep. You'll be sleeping, breathing softly; I'll move slightly, and your lashes will flutter slowly before opening, revealing to me eyes the vibrant blue one sees as dawn first graces the world. And in your sleepy, disoriented gaze I'll watch as comprehension dawns, as you remember the events of the night previous, of all the gentle words whispered, of an embrace sweeter than anything either of us has ever known. You'll give me your smile –that simple, warm curving of the lips that makes me want to touch you, to hold you- and you'll whisper to me a meaningless greeting of the morning. And then you'll reach for me, still smiling …

It's a desperate dream.

I picture you by my side as we walk the streets of the upper plate, fingers entwined with mine, lightly caressing to let me know that no matter how casual you seem, you love me with all you are. And as we round a corner you'll push me quickly into a darkened alley away from the eyes of onlookers, pressing me against the hard brick wall and covering your mouth with mine. We'll share breath; we'll meld and become the single union of souls we were always meant to become …

It's a fervent dream.

I can imagine when I sit in the large, over-stuffed blue arm chair in the corner of my cramped apartment, that you're only late from work, that you'll be here soon. You've been held up by traffic, or by your boss demanding you stay late; when you arrive I'll rise from my chair and run to you, wrap my arms around you and playfully demand that you carry me into the bedroom and make love to me. And you'll smile between kisses and cheerfully acquiesce to my wishes, telling me that you love me …

It's a hopeless dream.

**xxx**


	2. Reminicse

_**Vincent - Reminiscing**_

**X**

He's slumbering, but his repose is not peaceful. It is the sleep of the tortured, of the damned--fragmented memories and images made jagged by emotions unpleasant. Ebony lashes flutter against pale cheeks, eyes hiding beneath darting to and fro in dream state apprehension. Words crawl their way up a throat unused to fall whispered from lips cold and white-–prayers, pleas, confessions.

He is unaware that even now, beyond this satin inlaid coffin that has become his place of exile, people have gathered and are wondering, bemused, what lies within. He does not know that haunting these people is a part of the past he has fled from, has hidden from, for many long years. All he knows are the nightmares, the bitter recollections that dog him always; they are his penance, he knows, for all he has done.

And when the lid is removed from his prison, when his body is awash in light, his crimson eyes open slowly, reluctantly, to a world he wishes he could forget. He observes the small crowd and feels nothing, and in a voice hoarse from lack of use he tells them emotionlessly to leave him be. They comply, and pulling the heavy lid shut back over him he takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. He needs-–he wants--to find the torment that sleep promises him, to seek out again the bitterness and the piercing sorrow he will experience when in the grasp of remembrance …

It is the only place he can see her again.

**X**


	3. Acceptance, bitter

_**Aeris – Acceptance, bitter**_

**xxx**

She found him sitting by the riverside not far from their camp; he sat in manner that spoke of inner misery –knees tucked close to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, head laid wearily upon his knees. Knowing he needed isolation, knowing that even now he walked inner dark paths, she stopped where she was and remained silent, fighting her own internal war with herself, torn between wanting to comfort and realizing that the best way for her to aid would be to turn right around …

But she couldn't.

So she stayed, a motionless figure against a meadow of vibrant flowers; the pink of her long dress fluttering gently on an ever increasing breeze. Leaving wasn't an option anymore, because things were different now, and they had been different since that night in the Gold Saucer. It was a change so subtle as to be missed by most; the differences were in glances exchanged, in secretive smiles meant only for each other, in words spoken with a different intonation and a deeper, almost indiscernible meaning. It wasn't meant to be, she knew with bitter absolution, and it never had been. But for now she would lock all predetermination aside and focus on what mattered in the here and now.

It was all she really had.

And so she told herself that the tears that welled and slipped hotly, slowly from her eyes were induced by the strengthening wind, and that the constricting tightness she felt knot deep in her chest was just anxiety at what the morrow would bring. When across the meadow he suddenly raised his head to stare unseeing at something in the distance, she tried not to notice how much he resembled a broken marionette, slumped upon itself because the strings that supported it, the wires of a life spent, had been cruelly severed. Silently she willed him to stand, to move with of his own volition towards her, to acknowledge what they both knew was true but for separate reason were afraid to voice …

His head lowered again, a slow movement of defeat, of submission, and she whirled around then in order to stem the sorrow that was steadily threatening to consume her. Their roles were irreversible –this she already knew. He was destined to be the servant, the puppet …

... And she to be the sacrifice.

**xxx**


	4. No Easy Answer

_**Sol's Notes: **This was actually a challenge fic I did, with the challenge being to write this to the song Amazed, by Poe. _

**.X.**

It's easy for her to pretend that she's the way she wants to be when she's with Cloud. It's even easier for her to forget the way words she'd spoken aloud countless times before become jumbled as she tries to relay them to him, and that the air of confidence and assurance she adopted doesn't abandon her the first time he looks at her. His blue eyes, unwavering in their honesty and attention yet so empty when it comes to the one thing she wants to see, have the ability to undo her, to make all the shields and pretences she's wound around herself unravel. It's one thing to stand aside and look at yourself and see what you want to see; it's quite another to realize you're nothing like that image at all.

It amazes her, that when push comes to shove what she gives to him, without even knowing what it is she gives. She loves him, after all, but perhaps in that love is a dependency, a reliance that's crippling her in phases, one little piece at a time. Or maybe that's just her pride, indignant at what she becomes when she's face to face with him. Sometimes when she grows tired and fed up by the nonexistent progress she's made she tries to wall him out, tries to ignore the timbre in his voice that makes her wistful, tries to ignore the way he smiles—a little quirk of the lips—that makes her want to smile back. Always he manages to creep inside her defences, unknowingly insinuating himself back in her mind with a potency that should be shaming. But she loves him, and so she welcomes him back even though he's not really there the way she wants him to be.

The dance continues, and he's oblivious to just how much she cares. She'd walk into hell and back for him; she'd crawl over nails and broken glass just to know that maybe, just maybe, he cared for her too. But she'll never know, because he'll never tell her—maybe there's nothing for him to tell. It's torture for her, but it's a suffering she willingly endures; if she didn't, she'd never know her name falling from his lips, never know that little grin that he saved only for friends, never know that warm light that kindled in his eyes when together they did what friends do. Friendship is the only mantle the two of them can wear together, but she'll never stop hoping for more. The heart thrives on hope, even though the mind suffers because of it.

It's easy for her to pretend he'll love her someday, that she _will_ be the way she wants to be when she's with him. It's easier to say all those things she wants to relay to him when she's alone, when she can imagine the reaction she'd like to see and when she won't falter under the misleading directness of his gaze. When she's alone the fronts she adopts don't fall away; when she's alone she's confident, she's assured, she's calm. It's easy to pretend that one day he'll say her name the way she whispers his in the dead of night when longing overwhelms her.

It's always easy to pretend, which is why she does it so much. It's harder, much harder, to accept the truth. So she'll go on pretending, and he'll go on not knowing until maybe one day things change.

**.X.**


End file.
